Page 10 of One Hellion of a Christmas

“It’s so hard to find reliable help these days, don’t you think, Kalanchoe. It’s even worse when it’s your own son. That must twist those old, low-hanging gonads. I’m sure you can find a good urologist to help with that, though.”

Despite sweating so badly I wondered if he was going to fall over from heat stroke, he sent me a glower. “You like to run your little whore mouth too much. Hasn’t my son taught you to be respectful when in the presence of a man?”

Pretending to think about his question thoroughly, I shrugged. “He does get a little twitchy when I tell Vaughn to eat a bag of dicks. But Vaughn isn’t here.” I canted my head left and right, doing a swift search of the empty room. “And there don’t seem to be any actual men in this room. Soooooo…”

Sancho made a snarly sound that might have scared me once upon a time. It was odd how many things didn’t scare me much after becoming friends with Sammy.

“I’m curious though, Gazpacho, how did you father such an amazing man like Sparks?” His nostrils flared, but I gasped dramatically before he could answer. “Oh no. Did I stumble ontoa dark family secret? You aren’t Sparks’s or Monique’s daddy, are you?”

He started ranting in Spanish, but I ignored him. Instead, I turned my gaze back to the camcorder. “Hey, Michelle. Did you know that Evancho here isn’t even your bio daddy? That must sting.”

Another of my dramatic gasps filled the room, causing Sancho to pause in his ranting monologue. “Oh my! I’m not sure I understood it right, but didn’t Delanco here get promoted through the PCC ranks because of your mom? Marrying her, producing an heir and a spare, that got him a ticket straight to the top of the PCC. But if he isn’t your daddy, then that would mean…”

Letting my voice trail off, I tipped my head back, sweat beading and dripping down my face. Were they turning the heat up even higher? Fucking assholes. “Huh, I guess if you happened to do a DNA test and, by chance, discovered Mooooochacho isn’t your papa, then that would mean…”

Sancho’s backhand wasn’t unexpected, but the pain that radiated through my entire face, made my ears rings, and my vision blurry for a few seconds was a teeny-tiny bit worth it.

Tasting more blood in my mouth, feeling the throb and immediate swelling around my eye, however, I wasn’t so sure about. A flicker of fear sparked in my veins. Hitting me in the face was one thing, but if he started targeting other areas of my body, things were going to end very, very badly. Little Baby Cutter-Carver would be in danger if this piece of shit took his physical abuse out on my midsection.

But my mom always said I never knew when to keep my mouth shut.

Licking my bloodstained teeth, I snorted in amusement, refusing to flinch, to show a single ounce of fear. “No wonder youhad Sparks doing all the heavy shit when he worked for you. You hit like a pussy-assed bitch.”

Another sharp pain exploded through my face, so intense my breath left me in a rush.Ah, fuck. That hurt.But all I gave him in return was another unconcerned, bored lift of my lips. “You’re only proving my point here, my dude.”

Laughing dryly, he shook his head. “You should learn to shut your whore mouth.”

I had so much blood in my mouth, I wondered if my teeth were covered in red as I grinned up at him. “You called me a whore once already. Try to switch up the insults a little. Here, let me show you how it’s done. I can’t seem to remember if they call you Bitch-o or Bitch-acho. Which one do you prefer? Me, myself, I like just plain and simple Bitch. Basic. Yeah. That suits you perfectly. Basic Bitch Guerrero.”

His next blow stunned me so much, it felt like the world shook. But when my eyes could focus again, I realized that someone else had apparently joined our party. The building shook around me, causing the light above my head to flicker. Rubble and plaster rained down on me like snow. Another blast of something powerfully explosive caused Sancho to lose his balance. He fell at my feet.

Too bad for him, his minions hadn’t secured my ankles. The crunch of his nose breaking under my kick was a nauseating sound. He released a muffled shout, but I kicked him again. He dropped his head to the dirty floor, unmoving. If it weren’t for the wet sounds of his breaths coming from his broken, gushing nose, I would have thought he was dead.

I also would have been okay with that.

I was more concerned about my shoes. Seeing that his blood had sprayed all over my favorite pair of white running shoes, I wanted to cry. I loved those shoes. It broke my heart to see the blood splattered across the tops and sides. They might haveseemed like a ratty pair of athletic shoes to anyone else, but for me, they held so many good memories. I’d worn them for years. Nana had been with me when I’d bought them. Her, Abi, and…Maddie.

No. Nope, nope, no. I wouldn’t think about my grandmother and my stepcousin. They didn’t get to take up space in my head while I was dealing with PCC bullshit.

Yet another explosion went off. More rubble fell from the ceiling, a few large pieces striking me. It hurt, but I tuned out the stinging scrapes on my exposed skin, the sharp blows of the bigger pieces hitting my head and back.

A large slab of the ceiling landed on Sancho’s back. Whether it was the pain from the boulder-sized piece of cement or the loudness of the explosion itself that snapped him back to reality, I wasn’t sure. But when he lifted his head, the blood still pouring from both nostrils and out of his mouth as well, I kicked him in the face again.

And again.

And again.

He could barely fight back, his fingers clawing at my legs, desperate to inflict some form of damage. But he couldn’t move more than a few inches with the weight of so much debris on top of him, making him an easier target.

Sancho screamed explicit curses at me with each brutal kick I landed to his face, his hands, the top of his head. Vibrations slithering up my legs were my only indication that I had broken Sancho’s bones. My laughter startled me for less than a second because it reminded me of how Sammy giggled when she was playing with her prey.

God, I loved that girl.

More blood coated my shoes. They had already been ruined after the first two kicks, but by the time the motherfucker was unconscious again, barely any white was visible. My heartsqueezed. After the last few years without Pop-Pop, Nana, or Maddie in my life, I should not have been emotional over a pair of fucking shoes. But seeing all that blood, knowing they would never fully come clean, broke my heart.

I could replace the shoes, but I couldn’t remake new memories with Maddie or Nana or Pop-Pop.

It was like I lost all three of them again.

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